Of Quidditch and Cauldron Bottoms
by darklymoonlit
Summary: PercyOliver slash. Set in book three. Part of the Just Another Cliche series. ...Yeah... I got nothing. Hate writing summaries... Oh, rating due to the fact that even in fic I curse like a sailor. And for some... mild-ish stuff. Story is complete.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Sadly, these boys are not mine. They are, of course, the property of J.K. Rowling. I have no money. At all. So please don't hurt me.

Warning: This is slash. Yep. Pretty boys. Together. Not explicit, but still. If you've got a problem, leave. I don't want to hear about it.

I started this before book 5 and finished it after. In my world Percy is not a total jackass. So there. (sigh Why, Percy? Why?!?)

This is part of the "Just Another Cliché" series. (Which will probably remain unfinished. I know, I know… leaving things unfinished is totally out of character for me…)

Dedicated to Chris Rankin's bedhead (of course) and Sean Biggerstaff's voice.

****

Of Quidditch and Cauldron Bottoms

Chapter One

It's ridiculous, really. I mean, he's just not my type. At all. In any way. He's not even all that attractive. Sure, the red hair's nice. Especially the way it sticks up at odd angles in the morning after he's just woken up…

No. Stop.

Think about Quidditch. Yeah. Quidditch. …And how Harry fainted today… Damn Dementors. And damn Diggory, too. I mean, really, aren't' we Gryffindors meant to be the noble ones? And now there's almost no way we'll win the Cup.

Okay, on second thought don't think about Quidditch. Think about…

His damned little Ravenclaw girlfriend. Clearwater. Even her name is annoying and redundant and… Of all the absurd… Of course water is bloody clear! He's far more intelligent than she is, as well. With his brains he really should have been a Ravenclaw. Thank God he isn't, though. Then I never would have met him or gotten to know him. Not the way he laughs (though he doesn't do enough of it) or the way he tells me to stop thinking about Quidditch (though I'm usually not) and start paying attention or he won't help me study anymore (though its always an empty threat) or even the way he'll push his glasses back up after they've slipped down his nose…

Yes. Definitely ridiculous.

*****

Okay. Admittedly we've never been the closest of friends, even though we've known each other seven years…

But it's hard. I mean, it's all so stereotypical, isn't it? The unpopular intellectual falling for the jock…

He's not even my type.

I mean yes, he's handsome. Very handsome. And his voice alone…

No. Stop.

Don't think about it. Don't think about him. And definitely, definitely don't think about his smile or the look he gets on his face when he's off in Quidditch land when he should be studying or the way when he actually is studying he'll just sort of chew on the end of his quill…

Damn.

But above all don't get your hopes up. Not anymore than they already are. That would be stupid.

No. No, it's just ridiculous.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Sadly, these boys are not mine. They are, of course, the property of J.K. Rowling. I have no money. At all. So please don't hurt me.

Warning: This is slash. Yep. Pretty boys. Together. Not explicit, but still. If you've got a problem, leave. I don't want to hear about it.

I started this before book 5 and finished it after. In my world Percy is not a total jackass. So there. (sigh Why, Percy? Why?!?)

This is part of the "Just Another Cliché" series. (Which will probably remain unfinished. I know, I know… leaving things unfinished is totally out of character for me…)

Dedicated to Chris Rankin's bedhead (of course) and Sean Biggerstaff's voice.

****

Of Quidditch and Cauldron Bottoms

Chapter Two

Oliver Wood walked up from the Quidditch pitch soaked through with rain, muddy, and feeling distinctly dejected. All their practicing would be for naught if Harry didn't learn whatever it was Lupin was teaching him to help with the Dementors. Harry assured him that it was going well…

He heaved himself up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, gave the password, and made his way through the Common Room to the Seventh Year Boys dorm.

Stripping out of his wet, dirty Quidditch robes he walked blindly through the room into the showers.

*****

Percy Weasley had fled the loud Gryffindor Common Room for the abandoned dorm. He sincerely wished that the Head Boy and Girl got their own rooms, as was popular belief, but they didn't. As far as perks like that went, in fact, he was not better of being Head Boy than he had been as a Prefect. And so he was forced to retreat to either his dorm or the Library for peace and quiet, just like everyone else, and it was far too late to go to the Library.

Just as he had settled down to work on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase outside. The door swung open to reveal a muddy, soaking wet, downtrodden Gryffindor Keeper. Wood proceeded to trudge past him, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Once Oliver had passed his own bed he shed his robe and left a trail of clothing to the showers.

He had never been so glad to be ignored.

*****

Twenty minutes later Oliver re-entered the dorm. He felt much better. He was clean, his spirits had greatly improved, and he had resolved to do something, anything really, about his feelings for Percy. So it was with a half-cooked plan and a healthy dose of determination he discovered that none other than Percy Weasley himself had settled down to study in the dorm while he had been showering.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Sadly, these boys are not mine. They are, of course, the property of J.K. Rowling. I have no money. At all. So please don't hurt me.

Warning: This is slash. Yep. Pretty boys. Together. Not explicit, but still. If you've got a problem, leave. I don't want to hear about it.

I started this before book 5 and finished it after. In my world Percy is not a total jackass. So there. (sigh Why, Percy? Why?!?)

This is part of the "Just Another Cliché" series. (Which will probably remain unfinished. I know, I know… leaving things unfinished is totally out of character for me…)

Dedicated to Chris Rankin's bedhead (of course) and Sean Biggerstaff's voice.

**Of Quidditch and Cauldron Bottoms**

Chapter Three

One of the major problems with having such strong feelings for you friend and roommate is not knowing if he's at all attracted to you. No, allow me to amend, it's knowing he isn't attracted to you because why would he be?

The other main problem, though, is when he: 

leaves a trail of clothing to the showers spends an awfully long time (in only a towel, of course) bending over to pick them up while seeming to catch you looking at him every nine seconds and spends an even longer time, still only in a towel, choosing what he's going to wear and then a bleeding eternity getting dressed, all the while seeming to stare directly at you 

I'm going quietly insane…

*****

This wasn't part of the plan. It really wasn't. It just… When I came out of the shower I had gotten as far as getting dressed and sneaking down to the kitchens to get some hot cocoa for when he finally emerged from the Library. And then he was sitting on his bed, surrounded by papers and looking up at me.

So I started picking up my uniform and regrouping when I realized he was still looking at me. That every time I glanced at him he was looking at me. And I couldn't believe it. So I'm wondering and taking awhile choosing my clothes and noticing he was still looking at me, not constantly, but almost, and so I decide to be brave and see, just see, what'll happen when I get dressed…And I'm not the first to break eye contact. But I notice he's still looking at me, even without eye contact, and just can't let myself believe…

But what else is there for me to think?

*****

He's finally dressed. Finally. And with one last look, and I can't tell if the heat in that look was his eyes or my face, because I can feel the blood pulsing in my ears and know my face is scarlet, he leaves.

Just like that he walks out the door. I don't know how to react to that. So I try to calm my thoughts and get back to work on this damn essay.

And when I've finally succeeded and convinced myself it was nothing he's back nad sitting on my bed, moving my carefully arranged notes aside to make room for himself, and I just can't care because this time the heat is in his eyes, I just know it…

*****

I admit it, I had to get out. I was either going to start babbling idiotically or tear that Gryffindor jumper off and see how far down that brilliant flush went, because it was definitely below his collar by the end…

So I decided hot cocoa had been my initial idea. And a long walk through the cold corridors to the kitchens and back would help me know what to do… Hopefully.

But even by the time I was standing outside the door I couldn't get beyond giving him the cup and hoping I'd be able to look him in the face without making an idiot of myself.

I shouldn't have worried about not being able to look at him, though…

*****

He's handed me a cup and I tried not to think about it when our fingers touch for that split second but I can feel the blush creeping from my cheeks and I don't even realize what was in the cup until I've had a sip.

Don't get me wrong, we've had study breaks drinking hot cocoa before, but all I can think is that after that display earlier he's literally brought me a steaming cup of liquid aphrodisiac. And he probably hadn't thought of that.

Fortunately I've downed that sip and set aside my cup before I start laughing.

*****

I move some papers to sit across from him on his bed and hand him his cup. There's been eye contact virtually since I walked through the door and out fingers brush over the cup and it's so intense. He takes a sip and puts down his cup…

And starts laughing. And this I really can't believe. I'm frozen for a moment, unable to move as fear makes my blood run cold, that I'm halfway to the door when he's blocking my way, since when could he move so fast?, and still laughing. He manages to get out "Oh, Oliver…" between laughs before…

*****

As I start laughing I know I shouldn't, that it could and probably will ruin everything, but I can't stop myself.

And I was right. He seems rooted to the spot for a moment and I can see the hurt and fear in his eyes before he tries to bolt. Somehow, still laughing, I manage to block the door. I hear myself say "oh, Oliver…" and before I even register what's happening I've kissed him.

I'm not laughing.

*****

He kissed me. Barely a kiss, really. I didn't have any time to respond. But he's stopped laughing. And he's still blocking my way out. And now I know what he saw in my eyes for the half a moment I had been unable to move from his bed. The fear's the strongest in his eyes, and I don't like seeing him like that, so I do the only thing I can think to do. I kiss him back.

*****

He didn't kiss me back. 

The realization of what just happened replaces the laughter with fear. But then before I can think to leave he's kissing me. 

And, to give me a moment of cheesy clichéd-ness, it was perfect in its imperfection.

It's awhile before I'm able to tell him why I was laughing.

**Finis**

Hope you enjoyed the story.

Oh, and the reason it's every nine seconds is the Queer as Folk book of the same title. Fun times… Oliver wondering how for down Percy's blush goes is an idea from "a href=";", a Dead Poets Society slash story by Mona R. The idea for the hot chocolate is from a href=";, a series of original slash by Akira and Flair. 


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